Page 80 of Duty

“A woman,” Andino snapped.

Haven dropped the sheet, and started gathering her clothes. She already had her shirt tossed over her head when she heard the next statement from downstairs.

“She just shows up to your place wearing a sheet or something? Since when did you start seeing someone?”

“My personal life is not up for discussion,” Andino said sharply. “There’s enough fucking people in this family who seem to think it is. Now, get the fuck out. The next time you come to my house, make sure you call first.”

“Fuck you,” Catherine spat.

“Remember what I said, too. This is business, Catherine. You don’t get to walk away from business just because you want to.”

“And you hear me—I won’t ever deal for you again, cousin.”

Cousin.

That should have made Haven feel better—in one way. At least, this … Catherine wasn’t some woman Andino was fucking, too.

Instead, she was just lost.

Confused.

Concerned.

Haven heard the front door slam shut with a loud bang, but she was already dressed and slipping back down the stairs before Andino had even turned around. Yeah, she was fast like that when she just needed to get the fuck out.

“Haven,” Andino murmured.

She shook her head, and passed him by as she moved down the last few steps. “I need to head out.”

“Haven, wait.”

“I heard everything, by the way. Sounds travel when a house is silent.”

She caught sight of his flinch out of the corner of her eye.

“Listen, it’s not a big deal.”

“It is kind of a big deal to me.” Pulling her ballet flats away from the wall, she slipped her feet into the shoes. “But at the moment, there’s nothing to talk about, Andino.”

“Then, why are you running out of here like—”

“Because I don’t want to talk about it right now.” She stood straight, and spun around to face him. “Who are you?” Andino opened his mouth to speak, but she was quick to interject with, “And no, don’t give me some garbage again. Give me the truth. Who are you, and what do you do, Andino?”

A tic worked its way through the strong line of his jaw, and he swallowed hard. Still, he said, “I never said I was a good man, Haven.”

“You didn’t say anything, actually.”

“I didn’t know how,” he said, his tone sharp, yet aching. “And so fucking what, maybe I liked that you didn’t know everything about me like everyone else does.”

Haven blinked, stunned for a second. “Is that it? You liked that I was in the dark about the things you do, and who you really are?”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t know me—like you’ve never sat down to have dinner with me, or watched me with my dog, or woke up next to me in the morning. Don’t act like you know nothing about me when you probably know the parts that matter the most, Haven.”

Ouch.